


and all this devotion (was rushing out of me)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [12]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Camping, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sleeping Bag Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 13:03:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13547880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: While on a camping trip with Simon (or a research expedition, depending on who you ask), Izzy and Clary find a few moments to test out the limits of their two-person sleeping bag.(Spoiler alert: there's more than enough room for them to have sex in it.)





	and all this devotion (was rushing out of me)

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt "Clizzy, urban legend?" I... very liberally interpreted the prompt. oops. 
> 
> also, happy Femslash February to all! title from [Never Let Me Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zMBTvuUlm98) by Florence + The Machine.

Clary can’t remember the last time she ever experienced this level of quiet. 

It’s not totally silent; there’s a thunderstorm rumbling in the faint distance, and the rain is pattering against the roof of Simon’s van, creating a rattle that will probably become annoying if it comes down any harder. But for once, she can’t hear any traffic, can’t hear any screeching brakes or angry horns or equally angry voices, can’t hear the thudding music that all too often pounds through the dorm’s walls. There’s none of that, this far back in the woods; there’s just the steady tapping of the rain and the rustle of shifting fabric as Izzy rolls onto her side in their two-person sleeping bag. 

It’s downright lovely. Peaceful, even. She can see why people from the city are so obsessed with experiencing nature; it’s unlike any environment she’s ever encountered in New York, even in the deepest, most isolated part of Central Park. 

Unfortunately, they only get to experience it for one night. They’ve already managed to wrap up most of Simon’s end of the semester film studies project, which is a mini-documentary on the urban legend of the Jersey Devil and the reason they’d come into the woods in the first place. They'd filmed for two hours in the nearby town and four hours in the woods before they settled down for the night, with Clary and Izzy in the van and Simon in a tent just outside. All that’s left to do now is some pickup shots in the morning and some voice-over narration, which they can knock out using the sound-booths at school. 

Personally, she thinks that, unless he manages to somehow totally butcher the editing process, Simon’s on track to get an A. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Izzy says quietly as she slides over, knee knocking against Clary’s. “Except with maybe just the two of us and less cryptid hunting.” 

“Count me in,” Clary says, scooting closer and tucking her head underneath Izzy’s chin. “As long as we can make s’mores.”

“Of course we can." Izzy slides one arm underneath Clary’s shoulders and skims her fingers up the nape of Clary’s neck, to where her hair is pulled into a loose bun. “I don’t think it counts as a camping trip if you don’t make s’mores.” 

“Then this _definitely_ doesn’t count as a camping trip.” They’d had plans of having a classic cookout, complete with all of the traditional snacks, but it had started raining before the fire really had much of a chance to get going, so they’d had to settle for eating in the back of the van while the coals smoldered out. 

“That’s because this is more like... a research expedition,” Izzy muses, trailing one fingertip down the back of Clary’s neck and along the line of the collar of her shirt. It’s a touch as gentle and soft as gossamer, but it still makes a pleasant shiver course down the length of Clary’s spine, and she slides even closer and slots her knee between both of Izzy’s. 

“Pretty sure this hasn’t been nearly scientific enough of a trip to qualify for that title,” Clary responds. Her nose is pressed against the warm skin at the base of Izzy’s throat, and she absently tilts her head and presses her lips to it before she continues. “Maybe we’ll be worthy of the title if we actually definitively prove that the Jersey Devil exists.” 

“I’m pretty sure that Simon would actually die.” Even when they had been walking in the woods in the late afternoon, when there had still been sunlight filtering through the thick canopy of trees, he’d been visibly on edge, had jumped whenever a branch in the distance had cracked or an animal called out. Clary can only imagine how he’s feeling now, outside in the dark, with no moon in the sky to light up the night and no glowing fire to make the night a little less ominous. 

“Honestly, I’m kind of surprised that he hasn’t come in here and asked to share,” she replies. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he did; the back of the van is plenty spacious, and it would probably be considerably warmer if they had another person nearby emitting body heat. Not to mention that she’s lost count of the number of times her and Simon have fallen asleep together over the years, whether it was on adjacent mats during nap time in preschool or in front of Clary’s television after crashing from too many sugary snacks or on the floor at a friend’s party when they got too drunk to take a cab home. It wouldn’t even be the first time that the three of them shared a sleeping space; the weekly movie nights they have, usually with Simon’s boyfriend Raphael in tow, more often than not just turn into napping sessions as well. 

But, all that being said, she has to admit that she _is_ enjoying the solitude and quiet, enjoying just spending some time with Izzy where they don’t have to worry about school. 

“Me too.” Tilting her head down slightly, Izzy presses her lips to Clary’s forehead. She doesn’t pull away, and when she speaks again, Clary can feel the words brushing against her skin. “I really hope that he doesn’t.” There’s just a hint of mischief in her voice, and Clary is sure that, if it wasn’t so dark in the van, she’d be able to see it sparkling in Izzy’s dark eyes like a gem at the bottom of a mine. 

“Oh?” she asks, shifting back just enough so that she can be eye to eye with Izzy, their noses brushing together. She grins and drops one hand to Izzy’s hip, where her tank top has ridden up and exposed soft, curving skin. “And why’s that?” 

“Because,” Izzy answers, dragging her fingers back up Clary’s neck, “I kind of had other plans for our night.” Her lips just barely skim against Clary’s, and her fingers momentarily snag on the elastic holding Clary's hair up before they curve around the back of her neck again. “If that’s okay. If you’re not too tired.” 

“Pretty sure it’s not past my bedtime yet,” Clary laughs. On impulse, she rolls onto her back and uses her grip on Izzy's hip to pull Izzy on top of her. It takes a few moments before they’re able to rearrange themselves comfortably; the sleeping bag may be large enough to fit the two of them when they're side by side, but it isn’t _overly_ spacious, and they both end up giggling as their knees awkwardly bash together, as the fabric rustles and shifts underneath them, pulls too tight around them. 

Eventually, Izzy ends up between Clary’s legs, and while Clary can’t lift her knees without making the sleeping bag go weird again, she’s able to tuck her ankles behind Izzy’s calves with some maneuvering. They end up falling into more laughter when a loose piece of hair escapes from Izzy’s ponytail and falls into Clary’s mouth, and while Izzy fixes it, Clary buries her laughter into Izzy’s shoulder. 

But once the piece of hair is tucked away, everything falls perfectly into place. 

Izzy’s hands seem impossibly warm, especially given the cool interior of the van, as they run over Clary’s hips and up her stomach, rucking her shirt up in the process. Her mouth is equally warm, and Clary chases after it eagerly, slides her tongue into it to capture Izzy’s own, seizes her bottom lip with her teeth so that she’ll stay a little bit longer. In return, Izzy ducks her head and starts nipping along the line of Clary’s throat; it’s not hard enough to leave marks, thankfully (she didn’t have enough room in her bag to bring all of her makeup, so her concealer is back at the dorm), but it’s just on the threshold of pain and pleasure, and Clary tilts her head back against the floor of the van, giving Izzy as much possible room to work with as possible. 

By the time Izzy slides down a little further and starts kissing Clary’s breasts through her thin shirt, thumbs carefully tracing around her nipples, it’s all Clary can do to keep her breathing steady. She’s wet and aching between her legs, and she keeps searching for some kind of friction, some pressure to ease the ache. Unfortunately, her hips just keep meeting Izzy’s, which isn’t enough, and she groans with frustration as she runs her hand over the back of Izzy’s head, to where her ponytail is secured at the base of her neck. 

“Izzy, _please_.” 

“You’re so impatient,” Izzy chides, palming at one of Clary’s breasts. 

“I am _not_ ,” Clary retorts. It doesn’t come off as haughty as she intends, because the pressure of Izzy’s hand against her hard nipple sends more heat rushing between her legs, and she barely manages to bite back a whimper. Izzy just laughs and leans up to capture Clary’s mouth again. 

“You are,” she insists once they pull away to breathe. “But I don’t mind. Not right now, at least. Don’t need Simon walking in on this.” 

Truth be told, Clary almost forgot that he was outside. Izzy raises a very good point; she loves her best friend, really, but she might need a few days to forgive him if he interrupts them before she gets a chance to come. 

“I guess we better hurry up then,” she says, skimming her fingers along the line of Izzy’s hip and down to the inside of her thigh. She lets her fingertips linger there for a moment, on the warm, firm skin beneath the hem of Izzy’s sleeping shorts, before she trails them up higher over the soft fabric and presses them firmly against Izzy’s warm core. Izzy gasps softly and drops her forehead against Clary’s, so close that Clary can feel their eyelashes brush together. 

“Guess we should,” she murmurs and, after a moment of trying to figure out how to proceed, arm twisting this way and that, she manages to get one hand between them. Unlike Clary, she doesn’t tease; she just pushes her hand under the waistband of both Clary’s pajamas and underwear and slides her fingers down between her legs, to where she’s warm and wet and wants so badly she can hardly think straight. When she smoothly presses her first finger in to the knuckle, Clary cries out and spreads her legs apart, until her knees are pressing at the sides of the sleeping bag.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, forcing herself to think straight long enough to wriggle her own hand into Izzy’s shorts and rub one fingertip against Izzy’s clit. 

“No gods here. Just me,” Izzy answers, and it’s so damn cheesy that Clary can’t help but roll her eyes, even as she gasps and rocks her hips against Izzy’s finger. “Tell me when you want more, okay?” 

Clary nods and uses her free hand to pull Izzy back into another kiss, a kiss that doesn’t end until her chest aches and throbs with the need for breath. 

It’s not the greatest angle in the world for what they’re doing; by the time Izzy comes around two of her fingers with a muffled gasp, Clary’s wrist has started to cramp. Normally, she would start to shake it out right away, but before she can even slide her hand out of Izzy’s shorts, Izzy redoubles her efforts. She curls her fingers faster and uses the thumb of her other hand to press firmly against Clary’s clit and, in the space between one deep breath and another, Clary falls over the edge with Izzy’s name on her lips. 

Once she’s started to come down from her high, she lazily blinks open her eyes and cranes up to meet Izzy for another kiss, softer this time, slightly awkward due to the fact that the both of them are smiling widely. Carefully, Clary slides her fingers out of Izzy and wipes them off on her own pajamas. Sitting back slightly, Izzy takes her own hand out of Clary’s underwear, but she brings her fingers to her mouth instead, and even before she pokes her tongue between her lips, another, weaker rush of heat flows into Clary’s core. 

Izzy’s just finished licking her index finger off when Simon knocks on the side of the van. 

“Guys?” he asks, voice slightly muffled by the rain, which has increased in both tempo and volume. “My tent just collapsed. Can I bunk with you?” 

“One second!” Izzy yells, sliding off Clary and rolling to the side. With a sigh, she wipes her fingers off on the inside of the sleeping bag while Clary tries to straighten her clothes and hair up, make it a little less obvious that they were just having sex. As thunder rumbles overhead, she sits up and reaches for the door handle, but before her fingers can skim over it, Izzy makes her pause by placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“We are definitely doing this again. Just the two of us.” 

Clary nods and leans in for another quick kiss. When she pulls away and reaches back for the door, she can taste herself on her lips. 

“Absolutely.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
